So, for the present, as on several. We attempted to console ourselves previous occasions we attempted to console ourselves recollectIons of the way In whIch Polly had suddenly expelled PIff from the family.
In the meantime, however, I did suggest to Matthew that as Mummy dId not seem to care a lot for Chocky, it might not be a bad idea to keep her rather in the background for. a bit…
We heard very lIttle of Chocky for about a fortnight after that. Indeed, I began to have hopes that she was leaving us. But they were only slender hopes, and soon to be nipped. (*)
One evenIng as I was reaching for the televisIon switch Mary stopped me. `Just a minute,’ she saId. She got up and went across to her bureau. When she came back she was hold several sheets of paper, the largest about sixteen inches by twelve. She handed them to me without a word, and went back to her chair.
I looked at the papers. Some of the smaller ones were pencil sketches, the larger ones were paintings in watercolour. Rather odd paintings. The first two were lardscapes, with a few figures. The scenes were undoubtedly local, and vaguely familiar, though I could not positively identify the viewpoints. The first thing that struck me was the figures, they were treated with an individuality of style that was quite constant: cows, and sheep, too, had a rectangular and lean look; human beings appeared as a half-way compromise between the real thing and stickmen, noticeably lacking in bulk and surprisingly angular. But despite that there was life and movement in them.
The drawing was firm and confident, the colouring somewhat sobmre; it gave an impression of being much concerned with subtle shades of green. I know next to nothing of painting, but they gave me a feeling that the sureness of line, and the economy with which effects ha d been achieved showed considerable accomplishment.
The next two were still-lifes: a vase of flowers, not seen as a botanist would see them, but, nevertheless, recognizably roses; and a bowl of red things, which were undoubtedly strawberries.
Following these ca me a view through a win dow. Th is I was able to recognize. It showed a corner of a school playground, with a number of figures there that were active, but, again, long-legged.
Then there were a couple of portraits. One of a man with a long rather severely-planed face. I – well, I cannot say I recognized it, but there was something about the ha irline which seemed to imply that it was intended for myselfthough to my mind my eyes do not in the least resemble traffic go-lights. The other portrait was of a woman; not Mary nor anyone I could identify.
After I had studied the pictures I laid them down on my knees, and looked across at Mary. She simply nodded.
`You understand this kind of thing better than I do. Would you call them good?’ I asked.
`I think so. They’re odd, but there’s life and movement in them, perception, a feeling of confidence…’ She stopped and then added: `It was accidental. I was clearing his room. They’d fallen behind the chest of drawers …’
`Perhaps one of the children in his class – or his artteacher?’ (*) I ventured.
Mary shook her head.
`Those aren’t hers. I’ve seen some of Miss Soames’ stuff: her style’s a bit on the niggly side. (*) Besides, the last one is her – not very flattering, either.
I looked through the pictures once more, reconsidering the mn. They grew on one, once the first strangeness ha d worn off. (*)
`You could put them back there tomorrow, and just say nothing,’ I suggested.
Mary smoothed her knitting, and pulled it to get the rows straight.
`I could … but they’d go on worrying me. I’d rather he told us about them …’
I looked at the second landscape, and suddenly recognized the scene, knew the exact bend in the river which gave it.
`Darling,’ I said. `I’m afraid you won’t like it.’
`I’ve not liked any of it. I didn’t like it even before that friend of yours started talking about “possession” But I’d rather know than be left guessing. After all, it is just possible that someone did give them to him.’
Her expression told me that she meant what she said. I did not object further, but it was with a feeling that the whole thing was now entering upon a new phase that I agreed. I took her hand, and pressed it.
`All right,’ I said. `He’ll scarcely be in bed yet.’ And I put my head into the hall, and called upstairs. Then I spread the pictures out on the floor.
Matthew arrived in his dressing-gown, pink, tousleheaded, and fresh from the bath. He stopped abruptly at the sight of the pictures. Then his eyes went to Mary’s face, uneasily.
`I say, Matthew, I said, as chattily as I could, `Mummy happened to come across these when she was clearing your room. They’d slipped down behind the chest of drawers.’
`Oh,’ said Matthew. `That’s where they went.’
`They’re very interesting, and we think they’re rather good. Are they yours?’
Matthew hesitated, then:
`Yes,’ he said, a little too defiantly.
`What I mean is,’ I explained, `did you paint them?’ This time his `yes’ had a defensive touch.
`H’m… They aren’t much like your usual style, are they? I should have thought you’d got higher marks for these than you usually do in Art,’ I suggested.
Matthew shuffled a little.
`These ones aren’t Art. They’re private,’ he told me.
I looked at one of the landscapes again.
`You seem to be seeing things in quite a different way.’ I remarked.
`Yes,’ Matthew agreed. Hopefully he added: `I expect it’s something to do with growing up.
His eyes pleaded with me. After all, it was I who had advised him to be discreet.
`It’s quite all right, Matthew. We’re only interested to know who really did them.’
Matthew hesitated. He darted an unhappy glance at Mary, hooked down at the carpet in front of him, aud traced one of the patterns there with his toe.
`I did,’ he told us, but then his resolution appeared to weaken. He qualified: `I mean – sort of – well, I did do them …’
He looked so miserable and confused that I was reluctant to press him further. It was Mary who came to his rescue. She put an arm round him.
`It doesn’t really matter a bit, darling. It’s just, that we were so interested in them, we wanted to know. She reached down and picked up a painting. `This view. Ht’s very clever. I think it’s very good – bunt it’s rather strange. Did it really look like that to you?’
Matthew stayed dumb for some seconds, then halfblurting he told her.
`I did do them, Mummy, really I did. Why they look sort of funny is because that’s how Chocky sees things.’
He turned an anxious look on her, but Mary’s face showed only interest.
`Tell us about it, darling,’ she encouraged him.
Matthew looked relieved. He sighed.
`It happened one day after Art,’ he explained. `I don’t seer to be much good at Art,’ he added, regretfully Miss Soames said what I had done was hopeless. And Chocky thought it was pretty bad, too. So I said I did try but it never seemed to come out at all right, and Chocky said that was because I didn’t look at things properly. So I said I didn’t see what `“properly” meant; yoU either see things, or you don”t. And she said no, it wasn’t like that because your can look at things without seeing them, if you don’t do it properly. And we argued a bit about that because it didn’t seem sensible,
`So in the end she said what about trying an experiment – me doing the drawing, and her doing the seeing? I didn’t see how that could work, but she said she thought it was worth trying. So we did
`I couldn’t do it at first because I couldn’t think of nothing. The first time you try it’s awfully hard to think of nothing you sort of keep on thinking of rot thinking of anything, but that isn’t the same at all, so it doesn’t work. But that’s what Chocky said: just sit and hold a pencil and think of nothing. I got pretty fed up with trying, but she kept on wanting to have another try. And, well about the fourth time we tried I half managed it for a minute or two. After that it got easier, and then when we’d practised a bit more it got quite easy. So now I’ve only got to sit down with the paints and – well, sort of switch-off me, and the picture comes – only the way it comes is the way Chocky sees it, not the way I do.’